School Studies
by Way Worse Than Scottish
Summary: University AU where Sherlock and Molly are students. "Am I not charming enough? Too quiet and aloof? Should I smile and laugh more?" he chuckled, touching her face lightly and looking deeply into her eyes. "Should I bow at the presence of a lady? Should I compliment her every day?" he pulled away from her and snorted. "As if I would ever be so mundane."


Molly frowned and closed her text, unhappy with the lack of subject matter found within it. She looked around; this was her first time going into this particular wing of the library. Usually, she stayed in the common area, occasionally studying with some friends or on her own, but she didn't much like the crowdedness and constant whispering.

Her friends depended on her too much, which she hadn't expected when she went to such a prestigious university. Oxford, the school renowned for producing the brightest and the best... and she was stuck with the shallow dim rick kids. Mind you, they were nice, but Molly suspected that they only liked her because she was smart.

She had to work part time to help pay for her tuition, which was ridiculously expensive despite the fact she had gotten a scholarship. She rolled her eyes as she recited the mundane facts that she needed to know for her exam. She knew she would pass with flying colours; she had learned quite a bit about pathology doing some personal research while she was in high school. Molly sighed and started gathering her things.

"Would you mind not causing such a ruckus?" a voice sneered from the window sill. There was a student resting against the window sill, almost completely obscured by the shadows.

"Oh, uh, sorry. I di-I don't um... sorry," she stammered and blushed. Why did she always have to be so uncomfortable around people?

"Hm." His eyes narrowed as she felt the imminent urge to flee.

"I'll just um... yeah, I'll leave you, then. Ta," she mumbled and left, leaving her books behind.

Walking down the hallway, Molly shook her head. She hadn't been in the wrong; she had only been rusting a few papers. That boy had no right to make a fuss about it.

Early the next day, Molly rushed back to the library to retrieve her books, only to find them missing. She groaned and slapped her hand to her face, mentally berating herself for leaving her astronomically expensive text book lying around. She turned around to go to the front desk in case her text was there only to find that insufferable boy standing, blocking her path.

She blushed at the close contact. "Um... w-would you mind er.. um, excuse me?" she squeaked.

He took a small step to the side. "Your books are on the bottom shelf over there," he pointed. "Their garish colour disrupted my mind palace."

"Oh, you mean the memory aid that the Greeks thought of? Wasn't their theory that the mind could remember a location better than words and numbers, right?" she said in a rush. Realising that he probably didn't want her there, she got her books and left without another word.

The next time she went to the library, she noticed him sitting in her spot. He looked up at her quickly then went back to his quiet meditation.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Molly sat across from him and opened a research paper she had found in the archives. There was no point in her wasting her time reading over the banal text book another time.

Going through the pages and pages of text, Molly's eyelids began to droop, but she continued to plow through the material because she found it so interesting. She did a quick eye exercise by looking around the room and noticed the boy across from her staring at her intently.

"You're tired," he pointed out.

She nodded and checked the time. Molly's eyes widened as she became aware of the fact that she had been reading for four and a half hours straight. Molly quickly put away the document and headed for bed, thing about that student once more.

She returned again to the library in the hopes of actually having a conversation with this boy. He was decently attractive; he had dark curly hair which was in stark contrast to his English pale skin. His lips were abnormally pointed and he had perfectly chiseled cheek bones. She had only seen his eyes fleetingly, and they seemed to change colour from a goldish hue to green to blue.

Caught in her mind, thinking about his physical features, Molly bumped into the table. He, of course, was there again... she highly doubled he slept all that often seeing as his had dark circles under his eyes. His eyes flashed towards her face, scanning it briefly.

"Oh, sorry," she apologised, looking down. She sat across from him again. "Hello, I-I'm-my name is M-Molly."

"Sherlock," he replied, looking away from her once more.

"What, um, your class, no-er, what c-courses are you taking? I'm-"

"Obviously you're taking biology, chemistry and medicine considering the fact you want to be a pathologist. You should be taking courses a few years above you considering the fact you find your current classes to be a bore. You would prefer working at St. Bartholomew Hospital in London. You have a cat at your home and you have been befriended by such _ordinary people_," he spat out, "that I'm surprised you haven't yet gone insane from their inane chatter. Then again, you're exceedingly warm, kind and trusting, so it's not all that much of a surprise."

She took a deep breath, reeling from the sudden onslaught of information. "Impressive," she breathed out.

"Hm." He said, and returned to his meditation.

She pretended to look over her biology notes while secretly studying him. She tried to solve him, find out who he was, but to no avail. His clothing was expensive, but he didn't seem to care too much for it seeing as his vest was undone and had a discolouration, probably from an acid. Molly had several shirts ruined in her teenage years due to spilling corrosive liquid. Other than that, she couldn't glean any information from his exterior.

"Find anything interesting?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

"oh, um... no..."

He raised an eyebrow. "oh come on, surely you're cleverer than that!"

"Well, you come from a well-to-do family though you don't think much of money. You like to experiment with chemicals and you don't sleep much. Um..." Molly trailed off. "You don't make friends easily and you believe that you are superior?"

"Interesting conclusion," he noted. "What gave you the impression that I don't make friends easily? What makes you think I can't be a suave gentleman?" he dropped his voice down an octave. "Whatever gave you the idea, Molly?"

She blushed and looked away.

"Am I not charming enough? Too quiet and aloof? Maybe too curt? Should I smile and laugh more?" he chuckled, touching her face lightly and looking deeply into her eyes. "Should I bow at the presence of a lady and pull her chair out for her? Should I compliment her every day?" he pulled away from her and snorted. "As if I would ever do something so demeaning... so... _mundane._" He bit out.

"You had a lonely childhood filled with privilege. Whatever wasn't given to you, you'd get by manipulating those around you," Molly continued as if he hadn't spoken. You're intolerant of others and you act cruel because you know no one will like you, based on experience. You always say such horrible things... always," she finished, her voice quivering.

"Fascinating," he answered coolly. "You seem to lose your stutter whenever you're sure of what you're saying or you're emotional. That disproves my theory, then."

"A-and what's that, then?"

"That sentiment is a weakness commonly found on the losing side," he drawled.

"You probably, um... well, do you think that being, uh, alone... p-protects you, too? Because... it-it it doesn't. It, well... it hurts less. Closing yourself off and pretending t-to be bet- superior... but when you're in a spot of trouble... um, friends are better. I'm just- I'll see you s- later, then? Ta," she left, touching his hand for a moment.

A few days later she came back to the library, steeling herself for the potential confrontation with Sherlock. He nodded at her as she sat down once again.

They sat in silence for a few uncomfortable moments, until he spoke.

"Have I offended you?" he asked curiously, his head tilting to the side.

"N-not grievously," she assured him, giving him a small smile.

"I apologise for upsetting you in any way," he said sincerely, looking her in the eye.

"Ta," she waved him off.

"No," he said seriously. "That was inexcusable of me. I insulted you choice of friends, I was obnoxious and I lied to you. I shouldn't... my moods weren't as mercurial as I portrayed them to be. And I made your study place uncomfortable."

"Oh... um... thank you. I mean. No-wait. I'm sorry... no, no-um"

"Would you like to go for coffee? My treat," he smiled, flashing his teeth.

"That'd be, um, yes! Sounds w-wonderful," she replied gratefully.

"So you don't mind my presence?" he clarified.

"And you can tolerate mine?"

His brow furrowed. "Glad that's settled then."

Walking to the coffee shop, Sherlock looked over at Molly. "Would you be against me kissing you?"

"Uh-um, h-w-what?"

"Would. You. Mind. If. I. Kissed. You." He enunciated carefully.

Molly flushed. "A-as an ex-experiment o-or..."

"Or," he confirmed.

"B-but, why?"

"It seems like the natural order of things. We both enjoy the other's presence, or at least tolerate it. I think it would be an enjoyable experience, personally." He looked away, trying to not display any emotions on his face.

"T-this coming from the guy w-who said that he p-previously thought, um."

"'Sentiment is a weakness'?" Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd be okay with you being my weakness. You seem to be able to hold your own despite what appearances suggest."

"Th-thank you?"

"Hm." They strolled in companionable silence a little longer. "Well?" he asked eventually.

"W-well, wha-oh.. um... I... suppose. Um... yes?"

He smiled widely, unable to hide his excitement. He swooped down to capture her lips. She froze at first, then melted into the embrace and reciprocated. He kept it chaste, straightening up moments later.

"Difficult to properly describe the experience," he commented casually.

She looked up at his flushed expression, his hidden smile and blown pupils. "Easy from a chemical standpoint, though. Dopamine, serotonin and such."

"Hm," he nodded curtly. He grabbed her hand, subtly checking for her pulse. Unbeknownst to him, she was doing the same.

"Checking my pulse?" she grinned, looking at him expectantly.

He said nothing, looking away and smirking at being caught literally red-handed. Their hands were still together, he noted.

They were nearing the coffee shop when Sherlock stopped them. "Molly?"

"Y-yeah?" she hesitated.

"Would you be opposed to never not kiss on a consistent basis?"

"I certainly wouldn't dislike it, as I'm sure you're well aware. Are you asking?"

"So you wouldn't mind if we continued this... mutual endeavor?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Well, then," he leaned down again.


End file.
